For the past two weeks, I have armed myself with copious amounts of coffee in a series of rather unsuccessful attempts to write this little post. Not once. Not twice. But up, up, up and away to some ridiculous, forgettable number.
All in the sweet name of giving you something pithy or poignant or even pitiful.
(FYI, I just used “pitiful” because I couldn’t come up with any other way to end the alliteration.)
But I’m afraid my poignant well has run dry. This past month has just been that way. It’s been about survival, plain and simple.
Well, truthfully, it’s been actually been about two things: survival AND sock monkeys. Confused? To borrow a line from The Princess Bride, “Just wait ‘til I get going!!!”
Er, where was I?
Ah, yes, the monkeys.
Remember the brief journey this June into our summer schedule? The one where I sung loud praises to my doting Dad for inflatable sprinkler things? The one that began our week with Make-It-Monday?
Well, my dearest Daddy read that post.
Feeling quite proud of his contribution, Dad decided to step it up a notch. So in honor of my birthday, he gifted us with our very own, make-it-yourself, Rockford Sock Monkey kit.
(And all the craft-challenged mamas wailed in unison a cry of utter agony.)
But then yesterday, it rained.
Yes. That’s right. I did it.
I got that kit out and committed to the longest project in Make-It-Monday history.
Four-and-a half blessed hours to come up with this…
It’s okay to laugh, really…
I blame the false advertising…
Whoever thought this was sensational in any way shape or form should have been told what sensational actually means…
In my world, sensational does not even broach me stuffing my face with chocolate as my eldest inquires, “Mom, is this a little too much for you???
Sweet heavens, child, YES!!!! Do you see this monkey?????
I didn’t even notice an arm is MISSING…
But then Drew responds, “At least he has one arm?????”
Why, yes, son, there is joy in that.
So we push onward…and make a hat…to which the eldest again makes this blessed comment, “Well, that didn’t really improve the situation, did it?”
At this point, I am shoving the last of the chocolate in my mouth and sewing on a tail and an arm that don’t have any stuffing in it because I just can’t fathom the thought of one more appendage failure for the day.
My apologies to all the women who can sew, craft or stuff.
And as for me, well, just bless my EVER-LOVING ROCKFORD SOCKS!!!!!!!!!!
Now, you may ask yourself why I share any of this other than to make you feel AWESOME about your crafting skills.
Well, here’s the deal…
Ironically enough, even a month that is boiled down to survival and sock monkeys, God can use in all its hysteria. He can reveal truth out of it, among it and through it. He can even lead a mentally done mama to write down a little sock monkey theology in hopes of bringing you a little real-world encouragement in the back-to school madness.
Let us begin with…
Lesson #1 : Sometimes life just doesn’t follow the instruction manual. You want sensational and you end up with one scary sock monkey.
Expect it. Embrace it. Understand it.
Life is going to be full of scary monkeys but once we get done navigating the entire manual and blow this craft-making joint, we get a forever of sensational.
Lesson #2: We will all get our stuffing knocked out of us. But fortunately, our Creator’s whip stitch is way better than mine. And unlike me, He won’t give up…
God will heal and restore and remake you perfectly.
Lesson #3: Smile.
Seriously, how can you not?
Lesson #4: When your face looks like this, it is time to put the monkey or the to-do list or the calendar down and BE STILL.
(Okay, okay, maybe eat some chocolate too.)
Lesson #5: The world may call you ugly. The world may call you unlovable. The world may point out every crooked stitch. But the One you were made for????
He happens to think you are absolutely beautiful.
(Even when you don’t.)
So bless my Rockford socks. Yours too. And should this little pictorial lesson have taught you nothing, forgive me.
I was too busy making sock monkeys.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s the blessed point.